On Nature and Spirituality

Nature’s worse than in us.
We throb like ticks mid-magnet.
Outgrown popup windows
you can’t protest because
they persuaded you thus far.
We press our root canals
to honor the carpeted.
Brush the fucking world
back from Zoloft.
We’re here to hiccup: the end.
Save us from the rhetoric
of those who might recover.
We moved so often when little
a house got lost in every tooth.
Spiders chanted in our underoos.
Recall the ding of trucks
and their circumcision flavor?
The ransacked pension
that tricks parents into parenting,
the living wage no friend accompanies,
the grave, post-invoice,
turning in our youth.
No clue about which hospice,
no boiler plate rejections yet,
but we’re calling an autopsy
autographed in tune.

About Sean Kilpatrick

Sean Kilpatrick is published or forthcoming in Hobart, The Quietus, Boston Review, Queen's Mob Tea House, New York Tyrant, and BOMB. His first novella, Sucker June, is forthcoming this May. Follow him on Tumblr.